


The Arrangement

by ablindromance



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablindromance/pseuds/ablindromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyo's arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was a quickly-written KyoxDie pairing. Afterward, I altered the story to suit the KyoxPerson of choice pairing because it seemed like a fun idea. Happy reading.

"Slowly," I whisper, speaking with the notion that I have some sort of authority over him, over the situation, over the unrecognized guilt that drives my decision. It's bullshit and I know it. I never recognize anything because I don't wish to. I refuse to give anything a name and form. 

Every night or so, he fucks me like this. The location never matters: up against a graffiti-covered wall, over a dirty sink wet with who knows what, in a corner of our tiny dressing room. 

This is our arrangement. After the last song of the last encore I sulk off the stage first and into the back. Everyone else is left behind. He meets me wherever I am, shuts us off from the world, and tears me apart where I stand. He takes everything out of me so that I can feel nothing. It's the heavy nothingness after that brings me peace. He's pressed so deep into me, pushing against my core that any moment my body will yield and bleed the bitter seeds of anger, frustration and pain.

At times it happens so quietly that he doesn't even notice and I don't bother to complain to make him stop. He gets more driven by his eagerness to make me vocalize my pleasure and by the agitation to make himself come. He grows more carnal and roughly throws himself into me until I respond. I give him the desperate whimpers he so desires and my fingers may reach to stroke the back of his neck or the arm that holds me steady. He hurts me because I allow him to; only him. The brutal sex is permeated with a violence that he doesn't truly possess. It isn't in his heart to harm me and mean it. He's just performing for me. 

Some nights he does so in an alcoholic haze. Tonight it's whiskey and I can taste it when he kisses me. The musky smell of his drinks, I've noticed, has lessened in frequency. The reason why is curious. For the longest time we have met like this, without instruction, and fucked until we are a mess of sweat and tattoos. I believe the line between my need for fulfillment and his unmerited obligation to me has dissolved. I don't remember when I stopped using him and started needing _this_. I don't think he ever realized I used him at all. Remember, his heart is too big and too kind to me. This is just our arrangement.

He says nothing to me but I sense a difference in his touch these days. I'm not ready to acknowledge it and bring it to his attention yet. It's too risky. I may be delusional. 

No, this is fine for me. I'll give him my worthless body even though he might be reaching for more. The rest is too damaged for anyone to have. I'll writhe and scream with a raw throat if he desires. I'll perform for him while he waits. 

Until something in me changes, we will do this after the last song of the last encore, wherever we are. 

This is our arrangement.


End file.
